Old Man
by SalishSea
Summary: "You don't deserve her you SOB!" the slur in his speech lessened with his anger. "She'll stick by you. And for what? What's she gonna get out of it? Takin' care of your sorry butt. You're gonna get old and weak and useless. She'll be young and ...," his voice trailed off. "She needs a man, not a relic." (Gibbs gets nasty when he's drunk!) Established Gibbs/Barrett. One-shot.


**A/N: Gibbs and EJ have a twenty year age difference between them. And sometimes it wears away at Gibbs, whether he wants it to or not. Established Gibbs/Barrett, two years post season 10. Please R&R. Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit or gain. **

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**Old Man**

He was sloshed, feeling no pain, having communed with his bottle of bourbon for, what must have been, most of the evening. That's how EJ Barrett found him. In his basement, slouched in the old wooden chair, leaning against his work bench as if he were trying to keep it from falling down, when in fact it was the other way around.

She stopped halfway down the steps and stared at him, stunned. He was drunk enough that he hadn't heard her feet on the stairs as she came to the basement looking for him.

Sure, he liked his bourbon, but his style was to nurse his drink along, enjoying the buzz, relaxing into the warmth. Getting _stupid-drunk_ was not something Leroy Jethro Gibbs did on a regular basis. In fact, she couldn't remember ever seeing him drunk. He just wasn't a hard drinker.

Something must have happened and it must have been bad! She knew it wasn't a _horrible _type of bad, like someone getting hurt or killed. When those things happened he always remained in control, his attitude serious, his attention acutely focused. No, this was more likely a _pissed-him-off_ type of bad. Something he could do nothing about must have really gotten under his skin. She smirked to herself at his drunken babbling and felt a little pang of guilt at her voyeurism, listening and watching as he carried-on without a clue she was witness to his tirade. But this was just too good to pass up - watching Gibbs drunk and pissed-off at the same time.

His elbows where on the work bench, his head supported in both hands as he shook it back and forth while he spoke - apparently to no one - or perhaps to the rocking chair sitting on the work bench in front of him, his current pet-project.

"You are such an ass," he slurred out. "An arrogant ass. And you're a damn fool too. Who do you think you are?" his speech staggered as he released short, staccato burps and swallowed in between phrases.

"Christ. You're a goddamned cradle robber. She could be your damn daughter. Shit, how old would Kelly be now?"

She could see his alcohol fogged brain struggling to do the math.

"Shit, Jethro," he admonished himself. "She's not much older than Kelly would be if she had ...," his voice trailed off, his expression pained.

He pulled his head out of his hands and stood up, still leaning against the work bench. It seemed now he was definitely addressing his remarks to the rocking chair. And he was getting angrier by the minute.

"You don't deserve her you son-of-a-bitch!" the slur in his speech seemed to lessen with his anger. "She'll stick by you. And for what? What's she gonna get out of it? Takin' care of your sorry old ass. You're gonna get old and weak and useless. She'll be young and ...," his voice trailed off. "She needs a man, not a relic."

"And you're just gonna keep her from being happy with some younger guy who can give her what she needs while you shrivel up like some old prune. Fuck you, ya old bastard. Fuck you!" He almost shouted the last two words, punctuating them both by pounding his fist on the work bench.

As his rambling continued EJ's smirking smile slowly turned to a frown of concern at the obvious pain in his voice and the disdain he expressed toward himself. And she realized the '_she'_ he was talking about - the young woman at the center of his painful musings - was her.

As his words began to sink in, her mind deciphered their meaning. He was concerned about his age. More precisely, he was upset about the difference between his age and hers. Even more the point, he was afraid. Gibbs, renown for his stoic, impenetrable shell, was afraid and the alcohol had punched a hole in his armor and his fear was leaking out. It wasn't just fear, it was pain, too. Raw pain, fueled by grief and sorrow about his lost youth, his lost family, and his lost time with her - the ten years when they could have been together, if not for his damned rules.

She swallowed hard, her hands clenched on the stair rail, while in the space of several heart-beats a myriad of emotions cascaded through her body. She noticed her anger first. Anger that he didn't trust her enough to believe that her love for him was greater than any problem a twenty year age difference could throw at them. Anger that he thought she would be better off with another man - a younger man - when she showed him every day that he was the only man she had ever wanted.

But then her compassion for the man and what he was going through drowned out her anger. He was in his late fifties, going on sixty years old. And even though he was the most physically attractive man she knew, it made sense that everyone, even the invincible Gibbs, grieves the loss of their youth and fears the uncertainty of age. Yet, his fear was not about himself, but instead, about her needs and whether he would be able to be her partner and her lover without also being her burden. This was so like Gibbs; to take on everyone else's needs, to take care of others before any consideration for himself. As much as this trait of his frustrated her, she loved him dearly for it as well.

Compassion disappeared as guilt flared inside her. Guilt at his pain and suffering. Guilt that perhaps she had not done enough to remind him of her unshakable love for him so these doubts wouldn't haunt his thoughts. She was his lover, his partner in life, and the responsibility rested with her to make sure he knew every day, without a doubt, that her love for him was unquestionable. After all, he made sure that she knew this about his love for her.

Then her inner turmoil calmed, the rocky sea of emotion stilled by her love for him. It was that simple – her love for him. All of those other emotions weren't important right now. She nodded to herself as she remembered the one truth between them, the one reality she had no doubt about - his love for her and hers for him. Her chest tightened and her eyes welled with tears as the aching need to hold him, to comfort him and take his pain away, engulfed her.

She navigated the last few steps to the basement floor and stopped, looking at him as he leaned over his work bench, shaking his head back and forth.

"Jethro," she called to him in a soft voice.

He didn't respond, obviously too intoxicated and caught up in his own thoughts to notice her presence.

She spoke a little louder, "Jethro."

He jerked upright, startled at her voice, eyes darting around the room until they landed on her. It took a moment, but his face finally showed recognition and he flushed in embarrassment. The alcohol, no doubt, helping both the flush and the embarrassment.

"How long have you been there?" he ground out, trying hard not to slur his words.

"Long enough," she said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to eves drop."

He dipped his head down, eyes cast to the floor. Her gaze never left him. After several moments of awkward silence he looked up at her. "Sorry," was all he said.

His act of apology struck her, hard. In the months since they had rekindled a relationship that had started - and abruptly ended - ten years earlier, he had changed. Apologies, at least those made to her, were no longer a sign of weakness in his mind. His trust and love of her had changed him and the most sacred of his rules, _never apologize, it's a sign of weakness,_ had been thrown out the window. And that one act, in and of itself, had removed every one of her doubts about his love for her and his commitment to _them._

She considered his apology for a moment, then responded, "For what?"

He just shook his head.

"For what, Jethro?" this time her tone was more insistent.

She knew she couldn't drop this issue, that it would continue to fester in his mind unless they resolved it, together. He had already done a masterful job at hiding it from her and it clearly caused him great pain. No ..., now was not the time to ignore it. His intoxicated state had pierced an old, festering wound and she needed to help him clean it out before sewing it back up again.

"Erica …," he paused, seemingly at a loss for words. He shook his head back and forth as if trying to clear his head and looked down at the floor again. His struggle to verbalize his thoughts showed in the tenseness of his shoulders and the frown on his face.

She blew out a deep breath she had not realized she was holding, willing her own tension to leave her body. She knew she needed to try another tack to get him to talk. Stepping up to him she cupped his chin in her hand and gently lifted his head until he looked at her.

"What are you sorry for, Jethro?" her voice now a whisper. "For loving me? For making me happy? For protecting me? For wanting me? For changing your life for me?"

His face sobered, his gaze meeting hers. She had clearly caught his attention.

"No," he pushed out between tight lips.

"Well then, you have nothing to be sorry about. Because that is what you do for me - what you are to me. And if anyone says different - even you, Gibbs - then there'll be hell to pay."

The ghost of a smirk crossed his face and she knew it was at her calling him by his last name. She rarely called him _Gibbs_, usually only in a professional context. And he rarely called her _EJ_, preferring her first name, _Erica_. He told her he liked Erica, that it's femininity made him feel _soft_ toward her when he used her name.

They stood silent for moment, then he looked down at the floor, obviously trying to gather his thoughts. She took the opportunity to maneuver herself between him and the workbench and hopped backwards up onto it, sitting facing him with her legs dangling over the edge. Reaching out she took the hand closest to her and pulled him around to face her.

She dipped her head down and caught his eyes again. He pushed out a deep sigh. "Erica …, I'm …, old. And you're not. And ...," he paused.

"And …," she said, encouraging him to continue.

"And …, you deserve someone better," he finished.

"How do you figure that when there is no one better, Jethro!" It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah …, I mean, no …, I mean …," exasperation permeated his slowly sobering voice. "Oh hell! You know what I mean!"

"You're pissed," she said.

"Damn right!" his eyes lit-up at her acknowledgement of his mood.

"And when we're angry, what's really going on?"

He rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed.

She cocked her head to the side and stared at him, "Jethro…," her voice pressed him hard to respond.

"Fear." he said. "Yeah, Erica, I get it. When I get mad, I'm covering up fear."

The hint of a smile tinged her face. This was good - this was progress. Knowing she had to take advantage of her situation she pressed him further. "And what are you afraid of?"

At her question he broke their gaze, turning to stare at the wall off to the side. She could see in his face his mind was whirling at her question. She knew she had hit the bullseye and now she needed to be still and let him make the next move.

Finally he looked back at her. "I'm afraid of loosing you."

She searched his eyes for a moment, then said, "No. I don't think that's it."

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated snort.

"You won't loose me," she said, her glare challenging him to disagree. "I can guarantee you that. And you know that. Do you have any doubts about that?" Each sentence popped out of her mouth in staccato succession.

Frowning, he growled out, "No."

"Then what are you afraid of …, really …, Jethro?" a slight chastisement rang in her voice.

His eyes burned into hers at the question. She returned his stare, just as hard, and she could see in his eyes he had found the answer, but now they were in a battle of wills – neither wanting to flinch first. After a few moments she realized she had pushed him enough, perhaps even backed him into an emotional corner. And that would not work for Gibbs, especially an intoxicated Gibbs. Sighing, she softened her face and relaxed her shoulders, deciding she would be the one to flinch this time, he deserved nothing less.

Still sitting on the work bench she parted her legs and pulled him toward her, guiding him into an embrace. His arms tentatively encircled her waist, his eyes never leaving hers. Moving her arms up she clasping her hands behind his neck and gently pulled his head down to hers.

"I love you," she whispered, brushing a kiss across his lips and then pulling her head into his neck, deepening their embrace. She held him close for several minutes, not moving, not talking, letting him know by her touch of her love for him. After a while she was surprised when he whispered into her ear.

"I'm afraid that ...," he paused, his quiet voice cracking a little, "... I won't be enough. That I won't be enough for _you._"

She pulled her head back from his chest and caught his eyes again. She could see the emotions flashing behind them, doubt and fear, and perhaps even guilt. Once more - as he had done so many times for her - he had torn down his emotional barricades; laying bare his insecurities and fears to her, trusting them to her care.

"OK," she breathed. "That's real for you and I accept that. Now, can I tell you what's real for me?" she said, her eyes also asking permission to continue.

He nodded silently.

"Jethro, what's real for me is that you are already more than enough for me. You always have been and always will be. I don't care about the difference in our ages. I don't think about it – it just doesn't exist for me."

Moving her hands from behind his neck to both cheeks, she caressed his face. "The only thing that's important is _now_, not _yesterday_ and not _tomorrow_. Just _now!_ And I want to live the rest of my _nows_ with you – and only you. Do you understand?"

He nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "What did I do to deserve you?" he sighed.

A huge wave of relief washed over her and she said, "As of today, not enough."

She scooted her butt further forward on the work bench, lifted her legs up to encircle his waist, using them to pull him even closer to her while her hands moved to clasp themselves behind his neck again.

She tilted her head to the side, flashing him a coy smile. "But you know..., the day's not over yet!"


End file.
